


Willkommen in Wien

by zjofierose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Feelings, Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler doesn't know what this thing they're doing is, but he's just grateful for every minute he gets to spend with Dylan, even if it feels like those are getting fewer and farther apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willkommen in Wien

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been unfinished on my hard-drive for a long time, and it just needs to go out and make its way in the world. I have too many unfinished things floating in my brain, and some of them just have to get done so that I can work on the others. 
> 
> I don't think it's as good as it could be, and for that, I apologize. I hope you like it anyway. 
> 
> <3
> 
> TW: there is a very brief moment of sexual pressuring, but it's dealt with, and it's very much in passing. also, "happy ending" might be overstating it in the sense that it's not a fluffy ending, but it's still happy, or at least I think so.

They both get into Vienna a day and a half early for the con, Tyler checking in to the hotel in the late morning, Dylan arriving in the early evening, knocking on his door around 730 pm local time, all long limbs and messy hair. The dark circles under Dylan's eyes are deep, but he's grinning as Tyler opens the door, bouncing his foot against the carpet as he steps forward into an arm-grabbing back-slapping hug. Tyler pulls him in, breathing in the smell of stale air from the plane where it clings to Dylan's shirt, the vaguely medicinal scent of antibacterial handwash at his wrists.

“Hey, man! I missed you!” Dylan's got his face shoved into Tyler's shoulder, bony chin jutting uncomfortably into Tyler's collarbone, but Tyler can't bring himself to care.

“Yeah.” He rubs his cheek against Dylan's cold ear, gives him one last squeeze before letting go to step back. “Yeah, I missed you, too.” He smiles, feeling his cheeks warm with pleasure, and pats Dylan on the shoulder. “Come on in.”

Dylan sprawls on the modest hotel bed while Tyler hunts down his socks and shoes. He'd gone out for lunch, taken a walk around the neighborhood surrounding the hotel, then had come back and showered. His hair's mostly dry, but he's now in the process of discovering that he somehow only managed to pack two pairs of clean socks. He considers his options for a moment- brown dress socks, or starting-to-wear-thin sweat socks- before throwing the brown pair back into his suitcase and pulling on the white, sliding his feet into his tennis shoes.

He knees Dylan in the hip, waking him out of his almost-doze, and they head downstairs to the hotel restaurant. Dylan's clearly jet-lagged to all hell, his responses slow and his eyelids droopy, so Tyler figures it's best to stick close- then when the inevitable crash comes, he'll only have to maneuver Dylan's limp body up a few flights of stairs, and not over several blocks of concrete.

–

The hotel restaurant is relatively empty- it's a Tuesday night, and they're not staying in the same hotel as the con will be in, so they're fan-free, which is nice. They both order the hotel special, a slice of beef with sides of sauerkraut and something that resembles applesauce, but is much tastier, and the waiter recommends a local beer to go with, so they end up with a large frothing glass each. It's... well, it's nice, to just sit and eat food and not be watching the time for when they need to be back on set, or waiting for a call from someone, or anything. They're just here, with nowhere else to be, and Tyler smiles into his glass as Dylan's long fingers describe in detail the twitchy forty-something whom he was stuck next to on the plane.

“I don't know how you do it, man.” Dylan shakes his head, and shoves another bite of meat into his mouth and chewing. “You go to these things all the time. And like, even aside from the crowds, the fucking plane ride, Jesus Christ, it took eleven hours to get here in a tiny metal tube.” He shudders.

Tyler shrugs. “I just don't think about it, I guess. I have my headphones, my sleep mask. I just... sit through it.”

An unidentifiable expression flickers across Dylan's face before dissolving into a laugh and a bemused shake of the head.

“I'll never be as zen as you, man.” Dylan stabs another piece of beef and shoves it into his mouth, reaching across the table to prod Tyler idly in the bicep. “Never ever.”

The food is excellent, well prepared and delicious. Tyler loves trying new things wherever he goes, especially when he's not filming and can play a little fast and loose with his diet. Dylan's pretty adventurous, but turns out not to be a sauerkraut fan, so Tyler eats his while they wait for the tab. He likes the contradictory tastes of it; sharp, but bitter, but faintly sweet.

Dylan's eyes are drooping even as he makes noises about hanging out in the bar for a while, so Tyler shakes his head and blames his own jet lag, guides them up the stairs and deposits Dylan in front of his door before continuing down the short hall to his own. Dylan blinks at him reprovingly, but unlocks it and goes in, pulling the heavy wood shut behind him.

He's got his sleep pants on and is brushing his teeth when the knock comes. He opens the door still brushing, and Dylan staggers in, breath minty and his pajamas worn. Tyler lifts an eyebrow at him, and Dylan gives him a look that's two parts indignant to one part vaguely hurt, so Tyler makes apologetic eyes at him before going to spit.

When he comes back, Dylan's flung himself diagonally across the bed on his stomach, pillow clutched to his chest and breathing slow and even. He's not all the way asleep, not that fast, but he's close, so Tyler pinches him at the top of the back of his thigh, making Dylan squawk in surprise and lift up enough that Tyler can haul the duvet out from under him, hook Dylan's legs under his arm and pull him straight on the bed before dumping the covers over both of them. Dylan catches Tyler in the chin with an elbow as he adjusts his pillow, and Tyler retaliates by pulling Dylan tight up against him. It's not really a good revenge because Dylan goes happily, the back of his head bonking against Tyler's nose as he presses his back against Tyler's chest and hauls Tyler's arm around to wrap around against his chest.

“You thought I wouldn't come.” Dylan's voice is soft, consonants softly slurred with impending unconsciousness.

Tyler shrugs. He hadn't really thought Dylan wouldn't. He just hadn't really thought about it one way or the other. It's never defined, this thing they do, and even though it's steady, normal, he still tends to try and be in the moment he's in, rather than try to anticipate what's going to come next.

“Of course I was going to.” Dylan sounds grumpy, and Tyler ruffles his hair, rubs his fingers into the pressure points above his hairline. The lights from the street make a soft glow behind the drapes. It's early still, maybe only 9pm, but their schedules are all messed up, and Tyler can feel the pull of relaxation on his body, his hand slowing on Dylan's head. “Idiot.”

–

It's early when they wake up, just past six in the morning, but it's June and the sun is high in the clear blue sky, the air fresh and chilly when Tyler opens the window onto the street. It's Wednesday now, and he can see a few early businessmen in their suits on the street as they stop in to the small corner cafe across the street for a cup of coffee before heading to the office.

He leans his elbows on the sill, ignoring the goosebumps that are rising on his forearms in favor of watching a flock of pigeons wheel and turn above the roof-line of the building across from him. Behind him he can hear Dylan stumbling out of bed and into the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the creak and rush of the shower starting up. The streets are getting slowly busier below him, another shop opening, a florist's cart unlocking the shutters and setting out buckets of tulips, roses, carnations.

The bathroom door clicks open, and Tyler turns from the window to catch Dylan in a towel as he emerges in a cloud of steam. He's still sleepy around the eyes, but he smiles to catch Tyler watching him, and Tyler smiles back helplessly, then turns to pull the window closed.

When he looks back, Dylan's got his sleep pants back on and is yanking a shirt he's clearly liberated from Tyler's suitcase over his head. It's stretched out and a little thin, and it pulls over Dylan's shoulders and doesn't quite make it to the top of his pants where they're riding loose and low on his hips. Dylan rumples his hair vigorously with the towel, and Tyler licks his lips as the shirt rides up and shows Dylan's belly, trim and lined with an arrow of dark hair.

“All yours, man.” Dylan jerks a thumb at the bathroom, and Tyler blinks his eyes up to Dylan's amused face, then nods.  _Bathroom_ .  _Right_ . “I'll be back in a few, yeah? Then breakfast. I'm starving.”

Tyler's nodding again, because apparently he's still pre-verbal when faced with a damp Dylan dripping on his hotel carpet. Dylan smiles and reaches for the doorknob, then turns back and rushes across the room to grab Tyler by the shirt and kiss him soundly, his skin warm and soft from the shower, his mouth stale. Tyler catches him by the hips and pulls him in, kissing back with pleasure as Dylan leans his weight against him for a moment before pulling away and heading for the door again.

“Fifteen minutes, and then food, got it?” Dylan gives him a once-over, eyes lingering on the now-definitely-larger bulge in Tyler's sweatpants and raising an eyebrow. “Not a minute longer.” He grins, and pulls the door behind him.

Tyler slumps against the window, letting the cool glass bring him back to himself, then rolls his eyes and heads for the shower.

–

It takes him less than ten minutes to soap, shampoo, and bring himself to a perfunctory, but perfectly satisfying, orgasm in the shower, so he's dressed, has his teeth brushed, and is considering again his sock situation when Dylan pushes through the door. He looks up in time to catch the thing that hits him in the chest, and holds it out to see a pair of clean sweat socks. Dylan smiles.

“Didn't let your mom pack for you this time?”

Tyler rolls his eyes, but Dylan's still wearing Tyler's shirt, and he's smiling that full-on grin that lights up his whole damn face, and Tyler just gives in, lets it wash over him. It's vacation, it's a foreign city, and they're here together. This is gonna be a good day.

He pulls on the socks.

–

They end up at the cafe on the corner. Tyler would have liked to look around a little bit, see what their options were, maybe get a recommendation from the hotel clerk, but Dylan grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out the door, following his nose straight to the cafe and not waiting for any input. He can hear Dylan's stomach growl as they sit down at a table in the front corner by the windows, so he lets it go. He's sure this place will be fine. All he really wants out of life at this particular moment is coffee and something with eggs, and a quick glance at the menu makes it clear that this place can meet both of those requirements, so he's good.

Their coffee comes first, his a simple latte, Dylan's something fancier with caramel and an extra shot of espresso. Tyler takes a sip and has to close his eyes in reverence; it's possibly the best coffee he's ever had, the flavor coating his tongue and slipping down his throat. He must make a noise, because Dylan coughs, choking a little as he swallows his own mouthful, and his cheeks are pink when Tyler opens his eyes. He can't help but grin, letting himself lick the foam from his upper lip instead of using his napkin, laughing quietly as Dylan shoots him a dirty look and slips an ankle between Tyler's legs.

Breakfast is served quickly, smaller portions than in America, but better variety of fruit and veg in the sides. He doesn't realize how hungry he is until the plate is in front of him, and he tears into it, lifting his head after several bites when he hears Dylan laughing around a mouthful of toast.

Tyler swallows. “What?”, he asks, shoving another bite into his mouth and chewing.

“Well, it's just...” Dylan snickers, “you're really  _wolfing_ down your food, there.”

“Oh my God, really?” Tyler rolls his eyes, makes to get up from his chair. “All this way, and you're hitting me with wolf puns? I'm leaving, I'm gonna...”

“Come on, Hoech, you're not fooling anyone.” Dylan grins, but he's latched on to Tyler's ankle with both his feet, hanging on as Tyler pretends to fight his way free. “You'd never leave your food half-finished.” He snickers. “You're a ravenous  _beast_ !”

“ _Nuh-uh_ , I'm done, I'm sure they've got a to-go box around here somewhere, let me just find the waitress...” He keeps half-heartedly struggling at Dylan's grip even as Dylan dips his chin and fixes him with contrite eyes and a comically down-turned mouth.

“Aw, Hoechles, you know I didn't mean it.”

“Yeah, that's a convincing innocent face, there. I can see why they pay you the big bucks, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Hey!” Dylan pouts theatrically and thumps his chest with a fist, leaving a smear of jam on his t-shirt. “Who's got a movie coming out? This bitch right here.” He grins, and Tyler gives in and slumps theatrically back down into his chair, grabbing his roll and chewing roughly in fake anger.

“Yeah, yeah. Such a big shot.”

Dylan spreads his arms magnanimously, and beams with a face like the sun.

“Oh, baby, don't you know it!”

–

It's still early when they finish breakfast and head out into the streets, people walking by on their way to work, sleepy tourists with bedhead blinking in the strong morning sun. Tyler spent some time looking at a map on the plane before he got here, so he gets his bearings, then heads off down the street to see some sights, Dylan bobbing along at his side. It'll be a limited amount of time before Dylan gets bored with looking at parks and statues and the facades of old buildings, so he wants to make the most of it while he can.

It's good, he thinks, it's just... really good to be here, and like this. Dylan chatters along at his side, not his nervous intense babble, but his real stream-of-consciousness sharing which Tyler has always loved. It's not that Tyler is a silent sort of guy, necessarily, he likes to talk just fine, but he also likes to listen, and listening to Dylan is like getting to experience the world through a whole different set of senses. For one thing, Dylan notices  _everything_ \- the smells on the wind (“God, what  _is_ that, it's like a cinnamon roll fucked a pecan pie”), the sounds around them(“huh, they use a different bell peal for the quarter till the hour thing, weird!”), the sights along the street (“Hey, check out this store full of hookahs! Hahaha oh my  _God_ , they're showing an instructional video on how to load a bowl, hang on, I have to send this to Posey...”). Tyler's more of a focused guy- he looks at the street in front of him, he observes the people around him, he looks at the things he knows are there. It's not that he's unobservant, just that his range of observation is narrower, and that little peek into the rest of the world, the things he doesn't see, doesn't think to find, the connections he doesn't make, it's one of his favorite thing about spending time with Dylan.

They make it through the oldest bit of the city, pausing briefly at some Roman ruins, passing by St. Stephen's so Tyler can marvel at the mosaic-ed roof while Dylan charms a silver-painted street performer into a selfie with him. She ends up taking a picture of them together on Tyler's phone, laughing as Dylan spins her silver umbrella behind their heads, and Tyler saves it carefully to his photos twice as Dylan tips her. Dylan buys another coffee from a street vendor with a striped roof on his stall, this one small and dark in a little paper cup. He drinks it down, and Tyler forces himself to look away as Dylan tips his head back and stretches out his neck, his throat working as he swallows the hot liquid and licks his lips in satisfaction.

The morning wears on, and Dylan's starting to glaze over as Tyler reads yet another historical plaque, so they wander back through the narrow streets to the  _burggarten,_ where Dylan flings himself rapturously on the carefully manicured law and starts rolling around happily.

“God, it's the fucking drought, you know?” he grumbles as Tyler settles down next to him, back flat to the grass, arms and legs spreadeagled. “There aren't places like this left in California anymore, and when there are, it just makes you angry. You can't enjoy them like this, cause if you did, you'd feel like a shithead for laughing in the face of the epic water waste.”

Tyler digs his fingers into the thick dirt. “ _Mmm_ ,” he agrees. It has been a long time since he's really seen green like this. It's a little shocking, a little illicit, and maybe that's the reason he slides his hand over and slips his fingers into Dylan's, surprising him into silence. Dylan's fingers are warm and rough, long and slim, but strong; with character, Tyler thinks, like the rest of him. Dylan's pretty now, but he's probably going to grow up to be one of those debonair middle-aged men, a Clark Gable or a George Clooney, all dark eyes and charming smile, while Tyler will have to work to keep his bulk from turning to fat, watch his amount of sunscreen so he's not old and weathered before he's forty. He hopes he knows Dylan then, that they're still... friends, or whatever it is they are.

“Hey.” Dylan kicks him. “You got all maudlin. Either cheer up or spit it out.”

“Oof.” Tyler kicks back, and rolls over onto his stomach to smile down at Dylan. “Not maudlin. Just thinking.”

“Uh huh.” Dylan rolls his eyes, then leaps to his feet. “C'mon Hoech, race you back to the hotel!”

Tyler isn't even sure that Dylan knows where the hotel is from here, but that doesn't stop him taking off running at top speed, laughing as he looks back over his shoulder as Tyler bounces up and hits the ground in pursuit, unable to do anything but laugh in response as he runs after.

\--

He catches up to Dylan when they're nearly back to the hotel, and maybe Dylan was paying more attention than he thought, because he navigated back smoothly, letting Tyler almost catch him, then putting on the speed again. They'd gotten more than a couple funny looks, but no one had sic'd the police on them, maybe because they were both laughing as they ran, mouths open wide and teeth showing in obvious enjoyment. Dylan slows down and shoves his hands into his pockets, grinning as Tyler falls into step with him, shoving open the door to the hotel and jogging up the stairs to their floor. Dylan breezes right past his own hotel room door, and that's the way it's going to be, then, Tyler guesses. He fishes his door key out and pushes his own door open just in time for Dylan to haul him in by his shirt and slam it shut behind them.

Dylan's mouth on his is always a surprise, always a gift. He kisses like he does everything; intensely, and with a level of focus and skill he shouldn't have at his age. Tyler gets his hands on Dylan's shoulders and hangs on, letting Dylan press full-length against him as they stumble across the room, kicking off shoes into the corners of the room.

“Dyl, hang...” Tyler manages to pull away enough to yank his t-shirt over his head, “...on”, and is instantly rewarded with Dylan's long, rough fingers on his sides, tracing his ribs with just enough pressure not to tickle, following the lines of his muscles to his chest, digging into his pecs enough to make him moan into Dylan's mouth as he fruitlessly pulls at the hem of Dylan's borrowed shirt.

“Nope.” Dylan manages to turn them around and steps forward quickly, making the back of Tyler's knees hit the edge of the bed and give abruptly, dropping Tyler onto his back and hands. Dylan's already on his knees, pulling Tyler's socks off with his left hand while the right one yanks determinedly at his belt. “Nope, always waiting for you. I don't like it.” He frees Tyler's buckle and gets his button and zipper down impressively fast, then divests Tyler of his pants altogether with a sudden yank, and then there he is, flat on his back on a hotel mattress in his tighty-whities while a still-clothed Dylan stands over him.

There's something a little off about this, Tyler thinks, but Dylan can be capricious in his private moods, swinging from nearly manic excitement or nerves to despair in a matter of minutes, and he's still smiling, and well, he's palming Tyler's dick through his BVDs, so sue him if he's not paying full attention to every social cue here. He gasps, can't help himself, and Dylan gives a lop-sided smile and drops to the floor.

“Yeah, that's it. Missed me, huh?”

“ _Always_ ,” Tyler manages to gasp out, “you know that. And not because of this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dylan spreads Tyler's knees with his elbows and leans in, closing his mouth around Tyler's bulge, warm, damp breath filtering through the fabric and making Tyler's cock give a traitorous surge. Dylan's eyes as he looks up are full of determination, as per basically always, but there's still something lurking in the back, and Tyler can't quite figure out what it is, so he uses every piece of will he has to sit up on his elbows and push at Dylan's shoulders.

“Hey. C'mon. Take your clothes off, too. Come up here.” He smiles at Dylan winningly, tugging lightly on the short sleeve nearest his fingers. “It'll be more fun...”

Dylan leans back on his heels and looks away, but pulls his t-shirt off almost angrily, and throws it into the corner.

“Okay, hey, come here.” Tyler holds out his arms, boner entirely forgotten in the face of a clearly unhappy Dylan. “What's up, Dyl? What's going on?”

“Nothing's going on. Can't I just suck your dick in peace?  _Christ_ .”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “No. You can't.” He motions with his hands, and Dylan finally caves, crawling up onto the bed next to him and shoving his head into Tyler's collarbone. He used to do this when he was smaller and they lived together, long before they started... whatever this is that they do.

Tyler pulls a hand through Dylan's hair, wishing he'd had the time to close the curtains before he was unceremoniously stripped and dumped on the bed. It feels too bright in here for talking about feelings, which is what very clearly needs to happen, but there's no helping it.

“Hey. Talk to me, Dyl.”

Dylan shakes his head and palms Tyler's ass. “Don't wanna.” He gets one brown eye open and peers up mischievously. “Plenty of other things I wanna do though.”

Tyler slaps his hand away. “Tough titties.” Dylan snorts into his chest.

“Tough titties?  _Really_ ?”

“Shut up, you.” Tyler pinches Dylan's side to make him squirm, but his voice is fond. “I'm fine with working out feelings through sex, but I'd like to at least know what feelings we're working out here, ok?”

Dylan sighs heavily, his whole body going limp and somehow small in Tyler's arms as he nods. The moment stretches, but finally Dylan waves a hand absently at the ceiling, shifting so that he's on his back with his head on Tyler's shoulder.

“It's just... I miss you, man.” His voice sounds older, resigned. “I've been so goddamned busy, and I never see you anymore.”

Tyler nods. “I miss you, too.” He shrugs. “We can get together more, if you want, I can...”

“No.” Dylan's voice is sharp. “I mean, sure, that would be nice, but that's not really it.” He gets his fingers into his hair, pulling at it as he thinks. “It's just... like, this whole last filming, we were on set together a lot, but we were in what, two fucking scenes together the whole season? And now you're gonna be off the show, and it just..” He exhales long and hard. “It feels like the end of an era. And this...” He pauses, and Tyler leans in to press his mouth briefly to Dylan's temple. “I don't know what this is, I never really have, but it feels like it's gonna end, and I don't know how to stop that. Or, honestly, even if I should.”

Dylan pinches his mouth closed, and his profile in the mid-afternoon light is a study in misery, eyes lined at the corners and eyebrows shoved together. Tyler can't stand it, seeing him like this, so he pulls him in close, pushing himself all along Dylan's side and wrapping an arm across his stomach.

“Listen.” He breathes out. “I miss you, too.” Dylan opens his mouth, but Tyler pushes on. “I miss you all the time. I'm grateful for every second we get, and it's okay that it's not that much. You've got things to do, and so do I, and this is how life goes, I think- you love people, but you only get so much of them. It's just a part of life.” Dylan's quiet in his arms, but still radiating that miasma of sadness, so Tyler slips his hand up Dylan's stomach to rub soothingly across his chest. He exhales slowly to calm himself. “Look, I know we've never actually talked about who, or what, we are to each other, but I want you to know how incredibly important you are to me, ok?” He leans up on his elbow to look Dylan in the face. “We don't have to define anything, no, don't say anything. I don't need a response to this, this isn't a 'show you mine so you'll show me yours'.” Dylan closes his mouth and frowns. “I just want you to know that, whatever you want from me, you can have it. Friends? Great. This? Fine. Something else entirely? Just say so. All I want is for you to be happy, ok?”

Dylan stares at him for a long moment.

“You done now?”

Tyler rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.”

“ _Jesus_ , Ty, you are the most idiotic, self-sacrificing...” Dylan shoves himself upward, pulling Tyler into a kiss. “Honestly, it's like you think I haven't spent every minute since I met you just  _wanting_ you,” he breathes, and Tyler's heart tries to jump up his throat and choke him. Dylan knocks him onto his back and wriggles out of his pants with some sort of acrobatic twist, and then Dylan's on top of him, a warm weight across his front. Dylan leans down so that they're skin to skin, still warm from running, Dylan's heart thumping soundly against his own chest. “I want to be near you all the time, I want to hear you talk, I want to see you laugh your stupid fucking beautiful laugh,” Dylan smacks him hard on the chest, then leans down and kisses him in apology, “I can't even imagine not wanting you, I can't...”

“Yeah,” Tyler murmurs, rubbing his face against the curve of Dylan's shoulder, the hard muscle of it pushing warm against his check, “yeah, me too, I...”

“But I don't know” Dylan moves his mouth to Tyler's neck and presses his hips down, making Tyler's legs spread involuntarily around him, “I don't know what to do,” he says, and sounds lost, so Tyler croons something wordless into his ear and holds him close as he rocks back and forth. “I don't know what's going to happen with the Maze Runner stuff, or Teen Wolf, or other jobs, and all I know how to do is just do as much of it as I can until it all runs out, and I don't know,” he gasps as Tyler shifts to a different angle, hiking up his knees to lay his feet flat on the bed and lifting his pelvis up, “how to fit you in, how to fit this in, and I don't know how to ask you to be there when I don't know if I can be.”

Tyler buries a hand in Dylan's hair and brings their mouths together, opening Dylan's with his own, the taste of coffee still strong on his tongue. Dylan's moving faster now, and Tyler kind of wishes they'd managed to get their underwear off first, but it seems like it's probably a lost cause now, so he slips his other hand down the back of Dylan's boxers and presses his mouth right behind Dylan's ear.

“Listen, it doesn't matter, any of that, Dyl. We are who we are, and what we are, and whatever you want from me, I'm here for it.” Dylan moans helplessly into his ear, his wiry fingers scrabbling at Tyler's sides as the movement of his hips picks up speed. “We don't have to have answers if we have each other, okay?” He's out of breath, but that's always true when he's with Dylan, he thinks, always out of breath, always racing right behind, always waiting for Dylan to come back to him. “You want me? I'm right  _here_ ,” he says, and Dylan stiffens on top of him with a drawn out sigh, then goes limp and buries his face in Tyler's neck.

“Christ, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve you?” Dylan whispers as he slips a hand into Tyler's briefs and brings him off with a couple of slow, firm strokes. He pulls his hand out and wipes it on his boxers, shoving his face more firmly into Tyler's skin.

“It's not...” Tyler yawns, and turns onto his side, re-arranging Dylan so that his head is resting on Tyler's shoulder. He rubs his nose into the top of Dylan's head, remembering the first time he did this, when they were exhausted from filming, and cold, and Dylan had fallen asleep on him, buzzcut itching into Tyler's nose. He breathes out and closes his eyes, tightening his grip on the warm body in his arms. “It's not about deserving. It's about wanting. I want to be with you, however I can. And for as long as you want me here, then that's where I'll be.”

 

 


End file.
